


Called

by HollyShadow88



Series: ABCs of Harry Potter [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Relationships, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Dark Mark, Death Eaters, Family Drama, Horror, Other, Pre-Hogwarts, Return, Robbery, Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 20:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1997514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyShadow88/pseuds/HollyShadow88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since the fall of the Dark Lord, the Carrow siblings have been hiring themselves out for the odd and typically illegal job, both for magical and Muggle alike.  Their evening meeting, however, is interrupted by an unexpected call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Called

**Author's Note:**

> This one's got a bit of background info on what happened with the Death Eaters after Voldemort's fall mixed in with current events at the end of GoF. Conveniently the first two C characters are the ever so pleasant Carrow siblings, so I got to incorporate both. They're a couple of sleazeballs, aren't they? I'm sad they weren't involved more in the movies than they were in the books, but such is life in the Potterhead fandom.

Amycus slumped into a torn asunder armchair, feet sprawled out haphazardly before him. His robes appeared tattered, a stray stain or hole poking throughout the clothing portraying their advanced age. He gave up trying to mend them years ago; it wasn’t as though there was anyone to give a damn what state his attire was in. Being a former Death Eater after the fall of the Dark Lord hadn’t left him or his sister in very good standing with the wizarding world at large, so it genuinely didn’t matter if he looked more like a Muggle bum than a highly educated wizard and member of the Dark Lord’s army.

He and Alecto were at headquarters when it happened years ago. None of the Death Eaters present knew for certain where their master had vanished to, but all felt the underlying tension that night. He had been particularly temperamental over the past month, irrationally lashing out at everyone, Muggle, pure blood, and Death Eater alike. Amycus brushed it off casually – he wasn’t the smartest man in the room, but he knew better than to question Lord Voldemort’s actions. Better to simply do his job and hope he wasn’t killed.

They had been plotting an upcoming attack on the Ministry when the long, keening cry of a woman jolted the group to attention. They saw Bellatrix Lestrange crumble to the floor, her slim body quivering, though none could tell if it were due to a curse or something far more sinister. The Carrows rushed forward with the rest of the followers, intent upon protecting one of the Dark Lord’s most valuable followers if possible, but the words that came spilling from her lips sent a wave of frozen terror across the nearly silent hall.

“NO!” the madwoman screeched, pounding a fist harshly into the marble floor. “IT CANNOT BE! FIND ME THE CHILD, I SHALL KILL HIM MYSELF!”

“Pull yourself together, woman!” Lucius Malfoy demanded, shaking her shoulders roughly as he visibly attempted not to break down himself. The man’s eyes darted across the faces of the mass about him, gulping in breaths in a fight to stay calm. “The Dark Lord is dead. We must flee. The Aurors will certainly be on us in minutes.”

Even now, over fourteen years later, Amycus could feel the extreme rush of fear and incredulity that overtook him at Malfoy’s words. The Dark Lord, dead? And by a **child** , a mere **baby**? If it hadn’t been Malfoy, and Lestrange hadn’t been in such a state of complete and utter anguish, he would not have believed it. He remembered grasping his sister’s hand and Apparating them away without thinking, further proof that what they claimed was true; Voldemort himself set up the anti-apparation wards, and only his defeat could take them down.

They landed gracelessly in the dilapidated old house he currently occupied. It was an old family home, mostly left unused and forgotten once the eldest remaining Carrows took the mark. Seeing as the eldest were the only living of the family left, the building turned quite disgusting in their absence. It was all they had left, however, and in their state of sudden uncertainty it had seemed the best option at the time. Somehow neither ever managed to leave after that, finding strength in one of the few consistencies in their lives: one another.

His recollections were interrupted by the slamming of the front door and harsh approaching footsteps. Alecto slumpt into the room, tossing the bag over her shoulder onto their only table with a grunt. Her appearance looked no better than his own, her robes in a similar state of disrepair. She never became a very pretty girl as she grew older, he noted as she pushed her grungy red hair away from her face and glared impressively down at his prostrate form. Rummaging in the bag, she callously tossed him a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey.

“Up, you arse, or we’ll be late,” she grumbled as he took a generous gulp. Wiping his mouth sloppily with a hand, he stood and followed her upstairs.

“So who are we taking out tonight, Muggle or magical?” he asked, watching her dig through a dresser. She found two sets of robes that somehow managed to remain nearly presentable, laying them out on the mattress beside her to study them.

“Doesn’t matter, does it?” she demanded. “Point is, they’re loaded, with no one home but one sodding house elf. Easy pickings, this job.”

“Magical, then,” he remarked smugly, taking her dark glare in stride. “No Muggle owns a house elf.”

“Well aren’t you bloody **clever** ,” she sarcastically singsonged, stuffing one of the pairs of robes into his arms. “Think you’re smart enough to make yourself halfway decent? We’ve got employers to impress.”

His curiosity piqued at that. Most of their jobs involved Alecto interacting with the people who sought their services; she had always been the more personable of the two. Most of the time he never even knew their names, which was fine by him – the less he knew, the less he could reveal to those who would do best remaining ignorant. But from what she just said, it was apparent that this task was different.

“Who are we impressing?”

“A Barnaby Crude,” she replied, tugging on her own robes and brushing them flat. “Says he needs us to uncover some old lost family heirloom or some such nonsense. Sentimental bollocks, but he’ll pay us well for it.”

“How much?”

“Thousand Galleons.”

Amycus whistled appreciatively, attempting to smooth back his black hair. “By all means, then, let us go meet this Mr. Crude.” He paused, a hint of awareness tugging at him from the name. “Barnaby Crude…sounds familiar, yeah?”

“If you say so,” she replied as they tramped back downstairs. Suddenly, she froze, causing her brother to nearly run her over in the process, and clutched her forearm in pain. Moments later, Amycus understood why, as a very abrupt but entirely familiar burning cascaded across his skin. Wrenching the sleeve of his robe upward, he stared down at the tattoo he had mostly ignored over the last fourteen years. It pulsed and glowed lightly, sending another wave of pain through him as it provided him with a picture of an unknown graveyard. He gaped down at his sister, certain she had experienced the same thing as she looked back at him in shock. Almost in tandem, a pair of wicked smiles grew over both of their faces and, for the first time since Voldemort’s fall, a faint giggle sprung from Alecto’s lips.

“Does this mean…”

She nodded enthusiastically before grasping his elbow, preparing them to side-along. “It must. Crude can wait – we’ve got more important masters to call upon.”


End file.
